


Safe, Home, Love

by Feather_Quill_Ambition



Category: Sanders Sides, Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (hint: not fluff), Being held down, Clothed Sex, Fander Secret Santa 2017, Fluff and Smut, In my attempts to be tasteful I forget what people usually read smut for, Injury, Love Confessions, M/M, NSFW, Oneshot, Roman is bedridden, Virgil is good with his mouth, blowjob, handjob, i.e. I try to write smut but I can only really write fluff so I write fluffy smut, if you came here looking for something dirty this is not for you, mentions of (almost) dying, mentions of blood and severe injury, mentions of pain, mentions of panic flashbacks/trauma, no seriously this may be the softest smut even I've ever read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 23:39:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13201032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feather_Quill_Ambition/pseuds/Feather_Quill_Ambition
Summary: ‘Before he can react there are warm hands firmly pinning down his hips on either side and a voice in his ear murmuring: “Okay?”He nods emphatically, and then Virgil’s teeth are right on the sweet spot of his throat and Roman gasps, hips automatically bucking up against the iron grip stopping him from moving.“Easy, Prince Charming,” mumbles Virgil lowly against his flushed neck. “We’re just getting started.”’Or: Roman is bedridden. Somehow, Virgil makes it work anyway.





	Safe, Home, Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@6midnight-alpha6 (Tumblr)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%406midnight-alpha6+%28Tumblr%29).



> Extract from 'Things I Said, Did or Typed During the Writing of the Prinxiety Fic', by me:
> 
> \- "Here come the dicks."  
> \- *starts laughing uncontrollably at the word 'dick'*  
> \- "Oh god this is going to be weird"  
> \- *asks friends for help with vocabulary*  
> (-- Me: "WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU READ 'STAFF'" Friend: "THE SAME PLACE I READ 'NAKED FOLDS'")  
> \- "Now how... do I... take... his pants off?"  
> \- "I am like 1800 words in and not a single dick is out yet"  
> \- *Sailor J voice* "I. Am. SINNING"  
> \- *accidentally writes mini-angst into it, sits back and stares* "I don't know how that happened."
> 
> Alternative title to this: I Try to Write Smut for the First Time and Discover It’s More Difficult Than I Thought
> 
> This is my contribution to the Sanders Sides gift exchange organised by @fander-secret-santa, for @6midnight-alpha6 on Tumblr. The prompt was “yaoi”, and you’d think it would have taken less time, but wow… smut is weird to write, guys. It was an experience, though. I hope you enjoy this basically-fluff fic that happens to contain sexual content.
> 
> P.S. If you've ever read 'The Enigma's Anomaly', a Frerard fic by Helena_Hathaway, this is heavily inspired by a scene from it.

* * *

 Virgil turns out to be a lot more unexpected than Roman expected.

Roman finds that out further into their relationship than he expected to, because the boy is still so _shy_ , damn it, but at some point they slide back into their semi-familiar territory of relentless teasing and snark and nicknames and more nicknames, and Roman thinks he likes how Virgil has thicker skin than anyone gives him credit for. Anxiety wasn't all a lie; the sass, and the strong-willed persistence, were always very much real. So was the music taste, the dorky love of eyeliner (which has honestly only increased since he started coming out of his shell), and the infuriatingly pretty smirk.

Virgil gives him one of those smirks now as he lounges on top of Roman – perpendicularly, sprawled on his back against the mattress, with his legs thrown over Roman’s thighs and swinging where they dangle off the side of the bed.

“’Cause only a master swordsman would allow himself to be stabbed, right?”

“I _told_ you it wasn’t all my fault,” says Roman crossly, staring at the ceiling and planning ways to glam it up a little so it isn’t so boring to look at. “I had to make do with whatever I could grab from those ruffians, and the foul creature’s sword was too _long._ ”

“That’ll teach someone to overcompensate,” Virgil mutters under his breath, just loud enough to be heard.

Roman turns his head without lifting it and gives him his best pout-glare from the comfort of his pillow, and Virgil snorts. He actually looks happier, at last, now that Logan has proclaimed that Roman is well on the path to recovery and his wound has only a minuscule chance of getting infected and messing with him a bit more on the way out. And while near-perpetual bedrest and being told strictly _not to move_ is indeed almost unbearable, none of the other Sides have any intention of letting him slip out of their grasp since they first found him slumped and semi-conscious against the wall of his room, staining the carpet something terrible.

Virgil had been in the worst state Roman had ever seen him, and the guilt still plagues him as he remembers his own carelessness. It's still clear in his mind, almost surreal enough to have been a dream, and it surges up now as he stares at the copious bandaging around his middle: the ragtag group of orc bandits, and his confidence, and being outnumbered but still sure, so sure, and his own laughter and the feint and the knife sinking through his stomach and the _oh God oh fuck I'm about to die Virgil I love you I love you I'm dead I'm so sorry._

“Breathe,” comes Virgil’s voice, and Roman feels his thumb caress Roman’s hand where they're interlocked on the mattress. “It's over. You're still here.”

Roman obeys, relaxing as he slowly inhales the comforting mix of scents in the room. Clean linen, clean bandages, hints of air freshener, and something warm and invigorating that he thinks is entirely Virgil; all of it spells _home, safe, safe, home, love,_ and he smiles softly at the other Side as his jumping pulse settles again.

“You could've invited me, y’know,” mumbles Virgil crossly, squeezing Roman’s hand. “I'd have fought them off with you.”

Roman squeezes his hand back.  “You ever held a sword, Edgelord?”

“I've got fists,” retorts Virgil, holding up his free hand and flexing the digits deliberately. “Your foul monsters or whatever wouldn't know what hit them.”

_Home. Safe. Safe. Home. Love. Love. Love._

Which reminds him. He really should tell Virgil.

“Hey, Virge?” he begins softly, then hesitates as the other flops his head lazily to the side to face him, bright bangs scattering ridiculously over his eyes as his cheek smooshes into the mattress. The movement is frankly adorable and he wishes he could replay it.

“Yeah, Ro?” chirps Virgil, and suddenly Roman can’t do it. He’s not going to be the one who destroys that goofy, happy calm on his boyfriend’s face; too many things can go wrong. This is a peaceful moment he can't touch with something as tremendous as this.

“You're my favourite,” he says instead, and beams as Virgil blushes to the roots of his hair and scrunches his nose.

“Weirdo,” he shoots back, but smiles.

Roman tugs on Virgil’s hand like a toddler. “Up,” he commands, and Virgil shifts off Roman’s legs and crawls over so he's lying parallel to Roman, close enough to lean over and meet his lips.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, a softness to his voice that Roman treasures hearing.

“Better, fair maiden,” he says sweetly, reaching up to caress away the worry line on Virgil’s forehead. “Well enough to maybe do this,” and he carefully hoists himself further upright against the pillows, leans his head down, and proudly drops a kiss on the crown of Virgil’s head.

“Merry almost-Christmas, dear,” he sighs against the other’s hair. “I'm so sorry I worried you like this.”

“It's me, Ro,” shrugs Virgil carelessly, glancing up at him through hooded eyes. “If you didn't worry me, something would be wrong.”

Roman laughs, and they enjoy their quiet, easy companionship for a while, Virgil scooting further up to rest his head against Roman's collarbone with one sweater-clad arm draped over the injured Side’s stomach, covering the bandages. 

“It _is_ almost Christmas, isn't it?” Virgil muses at last, breaking the silence. “I can't believe you went and got stabbed for Christmas. Loser.”

Roman groans.

“Will everyone hold this against me for the rest of my meagre existence?”

“Don’t pretend you think your existence is meagre, you child. And probably.”

Roman sticks out his tongue, sulkily, before burying his nose back in Virgil’s hair and inhaling the scent of his shampoo. It's soft, in a way that his own hair takes hours of care to achieve, and freshly re-purpled so that the roots shine. Virgil takes care to maintain the colour; admitting how much he likes it seems to have done him good. It lets him express his love for Thomas’ new grape soda aesthetic without the fear of being questioned for it, which makes him and, by extension, Roman, visibly happier.

Virgil squirms in his arms a little, laughing. “The heck are you doing?”

Roman holds him tighter and starts deftly peppering the side of Virgil’s face with kisses, making sure it tickles, until Virgil is wriggling helplessly in his arms and shuddering with smothered giggles but never telling him to stop. At one point he turns his head just in time to skilfully catch Roman’s mouth with his own, twisting in his arms until he’s chest to chest with him, a hand planted either side of his head, and they’re making out just for the hell of it.

Virgil has a way of kissing that drives Roman slowly, inexplicably wild, all soft edges and breathlessness and growing need. The kiss grows into something more serious, more fervent, both of them sinking into each other; Virgil’s hands find Roman’s hair and cling like he doesn’t want to let go of him, and Roman’s arms wrap tighter around Virgil as he remembers how lucky he is to still have this, and when Virgil’s mouth leaves the prince’s to leave a comet trail of hot kisses across his jawbone the sound Roman makes startles even him.

Virgil shifts closer to him. Roman submits himself to a happier death, arching up, hungry for contact.

Then a sharp pang of _NOPE_ shoots across his midriff and he yelps, falling back onto the mattress with a painful thump _._ His first thought is sheer, utter disappointment.

“Shit,” mutters Virgil as he draws back. “Sorry.”

“No harm done, my starry night,” Roman says through a laboured breath, smoothing down Virgil’s van Gogh-inspired holiday sweater where it’s rumpled. “That was... my fault. Ow.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything to that, but he does lean back over Roman to quietly press their foreheads together in sympathy, and it’s enough for Roman to understand. They stay like that for a few seconds, suffering in shared longing, until Virgil slowly says, “Okay,” and pushes himself off Roman’s body.

Roman keeps his eyes closed, tilting his head back in the most dramatic fashion he can muster. He silently laments his fate and curses his injury, railing against all the gods he's ever heard of, in the hopes that one of them will sympathise and grant him respite. He's already half-hard and he knows Virgil felt it, can probably see it; it's strange being exposed like that, simultaneously embarrassing and incredibly intimate, but he maintains his composure with the knowledge that Virgil would never hold it against him. This situation is still too delicate to be a punchline, and right now he appreciates it.

But _God._ What a way to leave him squirming.

“Wanna try something?”

Virgil’s voice is quiet, nervous. Roman cracks open an eyelid in surprise.

“Something?”

Virgil flushes a little more, his hair still askew, as he sits up on his knees the way Roman’s seen girls do in anime. He fidgets with the sleeves of his hoodie for a while, hesitating. And then his eyes flicker down very deliberately to Roman’s crotch, and back up very deliberately to his eyes, with a stoic steadiness that leaves the prince reeling.

“Okay,” he blurts just as Virgil opens his mouth to elaborate, and he's too turned on to care how horny he sounds. “I trust you.”

Virgil makes a small sound in his throat, low and strangled. Then his mouth is on Roman’s again, hot and intense and lingering as he pushes Roman’s pre-unbuttoned shirt over and off his shoulders, exposing his torso. It doesn’t get far, pinned as he is to the bed, but just as Roman is wondering the point of revealing just the few extra inches of skin, the point of doing _any_ of this when he can barely even move without discomfort, he feels Virgil’s tongue leave his mouth, and before he can react there are warm hands firmly pinning down his hips on either side and a voice in his ear murmuring: “Okay?”

He nods emphatically, and then Virgil’s teeth are right on the sweet spot of his throat and Roman gasps, hips automatically bucking up against the iron grip stopping him from moving.

“Easy, Prince Charming,” mumbles Virgil lowly against his flushed neck. “We’re just getting started.”

Roman lets a moan escape as Virgil efficiently sucks a bruise into his skin and kisses his way downwards, making his way in turn to Roman’s collarbone, each of his shoulders, his chest, leaving more bruises at regular intervals. Each graze of teeth sets Roman’s skin alight, each press of lips making his heart stutter, and within minutes he’s already quivering under the other Side, because Virgil apparently knows how to make amazing use of his most recent discovery: the romantic Side _responds_ to his mouth.

“Virgil… nnnh,” he gasps out as Virgil stops circling his tongue around his nipple and meanders lower, humming against his tingling skin as he sets to work unzipping Roman’s pants and pushing them down with his boxers, gently lifting up his hips before Roman can try to move. _“Virge.”_

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it, Princey,” Virgil says in reply, stopping just above the bandages with a small bite, and Roman _keens._

“Never… said that, darling. But I can’t… how…”

“You're so gorgeous, you know that?” whispers Virgil huskily, ignoring Roman’s protest – and his erection – in favour of running his thumb gently along the sensitive junction between his thighs and hips, making him twist against Virgil’s grip with a whine. “Of course you do. Look at you like this, all bandaged up like the hero you are. You just got a fucking knife-hole in you and you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. How do you do that?”

Roman’s cock twitches _hard_ at the word ‘beautiful’, and the whimpers he’s been letting out escalate into a shamelessly loud moan as Virgil settles between Roman’s legs and finally, _finally_ takes it into his hand with a long, deliberate upstroke.

“Virgil, if I can’t move…”

The pressure of the other’s hand on his hipbone shifts and increases.

“Then don’t,” says Virgil, glancing back up at Roman, and _winks._

It may just be the sexiest thing Roman’s ever seen.

Something of his awe must show in his face, because in the beat of silence that follows the statement Virgil almost immediately colours, his heated gaze dropping in nervousness. “If you’re okay with it, I mean…”

“Virge.”

“Y-yeah?”

“What you were just doing,” manages Roman, reaching over and pushing his hand through Virgil’s hair. “Get back to doing it. _Now._ ”

“You sure?” mumbles Virgil, hesitating. “I didn’t wanna force you into something you…”

“Look at me,” says Roman firmly. The mood’s shifted, though not quite dissipated; he merely has more important things to take care of right now than his own erection, namely his boyfriend.

He gently turns Virgil’s face to his own, and his heart melts a little at the guilty look in the anxious Side’s eyes. “If I had been less than _okay_ with anything, I’d have let you know, alright? I said I trust you, sweetheart, and I meant it. But if you still wanna make sure I’m okay with this, then here: I am so. Much more. Than okay. With this.”

He ends his declaration by tugging Virgil closer and placing as sweet a kiss as he can manage on his mouth, and resting their foreheads together as best as possible from his position on the pillows. And he really, really wants to say it, looking at the beautiful shy creature above him, who opens up with Roman in a way he doesn’t around anyone else, who can tease and laugh and argue and huff and _be_ with such intensity it takes his breath away; he wants to say it so badly he thinks he might burst. But it’s already such a delicate moment, there are still so many things that can go wrong, it’s still such a strange and abrupt time, that he doesn’t.

Instead, he pecks the tip of Virgil’s nose cutely and says, “Okay?”

“Okay,” says Virgil after a beat, and smiles at him. “What do you want me to do to you?”

Curveball.

Roman releases a short, tense breath.

“I hope you’re aware of how incredibly hot you sound.”

Virgil makes a very small noise that sounds half disbelieving and half turned-on.

“Hey,” whispers Roman, suddenly shy. “Touch me?”

Virgil responds by playfully tweaking his nipple, and is unable to hide a smirk at Roman’s face.

“Jerk,” says Roman, but he can’t help but laugh. He picks up Virgil’s hand, kisses it and guides it down, never breaking eye contact even as it wraps around his flushed and aching cock again, letting Virgil see every spark of lust in his eyes. “Full liberties. Please?”

“You really want me, huh?” teases Virgil, even as he complies with a long, slow pull that makes Roman see stars. “Don’t move your hips, stupid, it’ll hurt.”

“I can’t help it sometimes, you know,” manages Roman through a gasp. “You just make me lose all my self-control.”

“I think I _am_ your self-control,” Virgil winks, and then shifts so that his knees are now weighing Roman’s hips down, rendering him almost immobile from the waist below, as he continues doing things with his hand that make the creative Side want to _writhe._

To hell with feeling sorry for himself; if this is what it takes to create a situation like this, Roman thinks he might go get himself stabbed more often. Virgil’s hand on his cock is firm, making the long, practised, twisting strokes of varying pressure that he knows Roman loves, the ones that send intense, pleasing ripples up his spine. Occasionally he sneaks his hand further down, stroking along his perineum and drawing a loud gasp as he circles Roman’s hole lightly with a finger, and Roman sees him smile as he gives up on coherent thought and devolves into a series of babbling moans. He runs his hands feverishly over Virgil’s body, over his back and under his sweater, pulling the other closer and leaving sloppy, fervent kisses along the pale arc of his neck whenever it’s within reach.

“You’re… so perfect,” he cries out as Virgil returns his attention to his chest, moving rapidly across it with the small, intense kisses that make Roman feel warm and precious and loved. “More, please, harder, more, _aaagh,_ Virgil, Virgil, Virge. You perfect, brilliant, wonderful, beautiful, _hnnnnnnghhh_ , thing, _Virgil_ , I, Virge, you’re so, so, so. Virge. Best, precious, p-perfect, _Virgil_ , I-I— _hrgh FUCK don’t stop._ ”

And Virgil doesn’t. He keeps moving down, fingernails gently scraping over Roman’s shivering torso in the wake of his mouth, running his hands over his chest and caressing his bandaged middle like he’s staking a claim on the other Side. And Roman loves it, treasures it with every fibre of his being. He loves seeing Virgil open up like this. He loves being the only person Virgil will be this vulnerable with. He loves the heated touches and the possessive, hungry quality of his mouth and the fact that Virgil cares this much about _him,_ wants _him_ , loves—

Loves?

It certainly feels like it, anyway.

“Virgil,” he whispers, past the string of desperate noises he can’t be bothered to filter, and Virgil raises his head and looks at him like he’s the moon, right before his tongue finds Roman’s cock and swirls over the leaking tip in a way that makes him convulse and shout.

Virgil swallows him further, taking in as much of him as he can, bobbing his head expertly as he works the rest of Roman’s length with his hand. Roman can barely see past the stars in his vision, can barely hear his own moans over the pounding of his pulse in every corner of his body, and he thinks, genuinely thinks for a glorious, manic second, that he might die of this.

 _“Virge.”_ Another cry. “Virgil,’m gonna…” __

He’s almost sobbing, now. In the haze he feels Virgil trace something on the flushed skin of his hipbone with a fingertip, but he can’t tell what it is.

“Virge, I…”

“Come for me, Roman,” whispers Virgil as he pulls off with a wet sound, and Roman’s vision goes white.

“I love you, Virgil,” he cries, holding onto Virgil’s hair, the words ripping from him with the force of a gust of wind, all his reservations collapsing as he comes harder than he’s ever come in his life. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He feels like a teenager who just came out. He feels like a man who just proposed.

He spends long, blissful seconds spent riding out his orgasm, pleasure crashing over him in waves that subside to leave him slumped against the pillows, staring hazily at the ceiling as his hammering pulse begins to slow and his muscle strength abandons him. He lies there for several endless moments, boneless and happy. His knife wound doesn’t hurt at all.

Virgil still hasn’t come back up to join him like he usually does, and even as he carefully struggles up onto his elbows to see why, he catches up with himself and his heart rate skyrockets again.

_Roman Sanders, you absolute nimrod. You magnificent fool. You piece of shit. After everything._

He was trying so hard to be careful, and yet by means of a few well-placed strokes of his tongue and his mere existence, Virgil has managed to unravel all his self-control yet again, and now he’s probably freaking out and scared to respond and…

His eyes fall on Virgil.

Virgil is crying.

Crying, and smiling as he silently wipes a tear off his cheek with the sleeve of his sweater, and blushing from his forehead to his neck, and as his eyes meet Roman’s the look on his face softens from shock and disbelief into a pure sort of joy.

Then he crawls up Roman’s body rapidly and tackles him back to the bed in a hug.

“Really?” he asks, voice small and hardly breathing, into Roman’s shoulder.

“Of course,” whispers Roman, arms instinctively going up to wrap around the other Side protectively. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you the way I wanted to, my love.”

“ _Love,”_ echoes Virgil, voice hoarse, with a choked laugh. “You…?”

“I love you, yes,” says Roman again, steadily and a bit giddily, because finally, finally, he _can._ He kisses Virgil’s hair, and his face, and his neck, and holds him as tight as he dares, and Virgil lets him.

“Roman,” he begins, quietly, after a few minutes of this, and Roman interrupts him.

“Please don’t feel forced to say it back, dear. I just want you to know. Of course, I understand if you don’t feel the same way towards me yet, or if you simply—”

“I do.”

The words are rushed, nervous, and powerful. Roman thinks he feels time slow down as Virgil lifts himself up to look at Roman, consciously or unconsciously tapping a familiar rhythm against his shoulder.

“I… I do,” he repeats firmly, softly. “I don’t know how to… make myself say it yet, but… God, Roman, I do. You know I do.”

Roman’s heart swells with a feeling he can only recognise as sheer, utter wonder.

“I know,” he affirms, voice breaking, and bows his forehead to meet the other Side’s.

They smile at each other, before Virgil curls back into Roman’s arms in understanding. Roman remains still, beaming ridiculously at the ceiling, feeling himself glow with happiness of depths unexperienced and embracing it.

 _Safe_ , he thinks. _Home. Love._

“Don’t go fighting asshole bandits for a while,” Virgil requests, shifting in his arms. “Okay?”

And Roman knows he won’t. His duty lies at home. He has a prince to protect, a purple prince with an attitude and sweater paws, and…

Well, he thinks as his hands slide down Emo Boy’s waist, feeling the slight but noticeable bulge pressing against his side, he has far better things to do with his time than charge around an imaginary mindscape chasing imaginary villains with real-enough armaments.

Virgil shifts again under Roman’s hands, leaving both of them very aware of this new situation, and Roman grins.

For starters, a little reciprocation is in order.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [@just-fic-me-up](http://just-fic-me-up.tumblr.com). Come rant at me!


End file.
